


Stick Up: A Sherstrade Beginning

by ohdrey89



Series: Deductive Deviations [36]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Bed Sex, Come Eating, Come Shot, Coming Untouched, Divorce, Erections, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Hand Jobs, Large Cock, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Meet-Cute, Multiple Orgasms, Sad Greg Lestrade, Unilock, X meets X
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 22:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohdrey89/pseuds/ohdrey89
Summary: Greg Lestrade wasn't expecting to have someone try to mug him on the way home. He also wasn't expecting that someone to be a bloke as beautiful and intelligent as Sherlock Holmes. He's just a sad sack separated husband and sergeant inspector. What would someone like this handsome young man want to do with him?





	Stick Up: A Sherstrade Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on so many things right now, the last thing I want is to get trapped into other fics while I'm trying to write a saga like the Bagginshield one I'm already writing. But then the plot tribbles are everywhere! Someone send help or tell me how I'm supposed to get rid of them! 
> 
> This is a bit different. I don't know where it's supposed to go or if there will be an after or where this is even coming from inside my head, but we'll see what sort of reception it gets and go from there. I just got this idea that hit me of how Lestrade and Sherlock might have met.
> 
> Sherlock is 22 and Lestrade is 35. I had read a sherstrade fic that put them at 13 years apart, and that has just sort of turned into my accepted canon for them. In the fic, I put Sherlock at 22 but still is quite innocent, which might not work for some as well as his 18 year old self might. But give it a read!
> 
> Disclaimer: We didn't create it, we're not making money from it. But that's not going to stop the ideas from coming, so here we all are anyway. We might as well live.

“Oh fuck.” Sergeant Inspector Lestrade cursed in surprise when a rough looking bloke rounded the corner and waved a knife at him.

“No thank you. I’ll just be having your wallet, if you would be so kind, Inspector.” He looked like a strong breeze would know him over. “And without the fuss, if you wouldn’t mind?” Well, the bloke didn’t sound rough. No, he sounded quite posh. Lestrade held up his hands and eyed the kid before him. He was about ten years his junior, perhaps more and under the rough looking exterior, Lestrade saw the clothes were well-tailored if worn. They were just a sweatshirt and a pair of denim jeans, but they were too well-fitting. The knife he was waving around was actually a scalpel. Small but no less deadly when yielded the right way. He noticed how the lad’s hand shook and he saw the bleary eyes of a junkie coming off a high. He’d seen enough of it to know.

“I can’t do that.” Lestrade shook his head no and took a measured shuffle back to keep his distance.

“Did I say you had a choice in the matter?” He questioned Lestrade, his brow tightening. Another shaky and frantic wave, a sheen covered the alabaster skin. If he wasn’t quite so unkempt, Lestrade imagined he would be quite attractive.

“When was the last time you ate?” The poor boy looked quite done in.

“This isn’t exactly the appropriate time to be asking the questions.” The knife was forced forward and meant to look intimidating but from the sheen on his skin and the desperate look in his eye, the kid was minutes away from being sick with withdrawal or passing out, which ever came first.

“Look, pay day isn’t for another three days. I only have twenty quid in my pocket. How about instead of you going to buy more of whatever it is you like— I’m guessing from the tract marks on your forearm its either heroin or cocaine, probably both. How about instead of you doing that you come back to my place with me and I’ll cook a supper for the both of us.” Lestrade tried to lower his hands, his palms in an open gesture.

“I don’t. Want. A meal! I want. Your money!” The boy enunciated with in his upper crust clipped tones. Lestrade stepped forward into his space and the boy backed wildly into the brick wall of the alleyway, startled and ill with the wearing adrenaline of trying to pull off the mugging.

“And I’m not going to give it to you.” Lestrade turned his back on him and kept walking. “I’m tired, I’ve had a hard day at work, I’ve just been separated from my wife for a year last week, I haven’t seen my kids in a week, and I’m hungry. Follow me, now, and I won’t bust you for threatening a police officer with violence.” Lestrade had hope for the boy when the leaden steps followed behind him. He directed their steps to the local shops near his temporary flat. Could it be considered temporary if he lived there for a year? Lestrade sighed, walking into the store, blinking against the harsh white light. He shoved the lad into a nearby chair as soon as he tried to walk into the store. “Stay there and wait for me. You look like you’re about ten seconds from fainting.” Lestrade huffed. “I’m going to do the shopping and you’re going stay here until it’s time to leave.”

“What if I don’t?” The boy had some gall to speak so snidely when he knew he was in trouble.

“I’ve seen your face; I’ve even got it on camera.” He pointed over his shoulder to the security camera pointed at the entrance to the store. “All I’ve got to do is post your picture with the right promise of reward and you’ll turn up.” Lestrade smirked.

“I doubt you would find me. I’m not exactly keeping the best of circles with my drug habit.” He didn’t even notice his grip with loosening on the scalpel until he looked down and tightened his fist.

“And there’s not a junkie alive that wouldn’t give you up if it put them in clover?” Lestrade asked, satisfied when the boy turned his head away. “I’m only going to ask this once before I go up and down the aisles. Any requests for your meal tonight?” The sudden growl from the kid’s belly proved his point.

“Fish and chips.” He lifted his chin up in defiance.

“Italian it is, then.” Lestrade left the boy sitting there and went through the store to gather the ingredients he needed. With any luck, he’d have enough leftovers to take to work for lunch, and he could carry the leftovers over until the end of the week. By the time he paid and went back to the chair, the lad had fallen asleep his head leaning against the coinslot machines at the door. The bright plasticine colors bounced off of his wan face that was like rice paper from lack of sleep and proper meals. Lestrade reached out and nudged the boy awake. “Come on, back to my flat.” He walked out of the store glad that the boy did follow him.

“Why are you being so nice to me? You’ll get nothing out of it.” He growled almost in frustration it seemed, like he couldn’t grasp Lestrade’s motives for any of it.

“I told you I’m tired, I didn’t feel like getting mugged, and I was hungry. I’d like some company too.” Lestrade smiled genuinely to the kid. He didn’t seem a bad person, just made bad choices. Someone posh sounding like him probably also had family worried about him and had every opportunity available to him when he was ready to seize it. He noticed the boy look away with a blush. Lestrade wondered if it wasn’t just bad choices that forced him onto the streets. It wouldn’t have been the first time he heard of it. But he’d never force such a confidence from the lad. If he wanted to talk to Lestrade about his story, he would. For the entire walk, he thought of theories for the kid being the way he was. The rest of their walk was silent, the kid mulling over the reasons for his kindness, and Lestrade too exhausted from the day he had to keep up the conversation. It was nice to have someone by his side that didn’t mind the silence until at last they reached the door to his place. “You can stay the night if you like, you look like you could use the night sleeping someplace warm.” It was going to be a cold night, too.

“I could rob you while you sleep.” The boy called after him following Lestrade up to his third story flat. Lesstrade couldn’t help but bark in laughter chuckling to himself. “What’s so funny?” The boy almost whined with petulance. It was such a shame the look suited him.

“You’ll see when you come in.” Lestrade cast a boyish grin over his shoulder at the lad before he pushed opened the door. The flat was… depressing. It was just a level above a bedsit, with whatever furniture came with the lease. It had a lot of space but in a part of London that kept the cost cheap. The only thing that was his had been the leather chair that he bought himself at the beginning of the marriage. His wife Rebecca hated it. It just made him love the old chair more. The rest of the one-bedroom flat was without note. The plumbing worked and his bed was comfy and good for his back. The TV was his one luxury item. There was a picture of his kids by the bedside table and a portrait of the Lestrade family during his twelfth birthday when his father gave him his first vinyl record. The rest of the flat could burn and he wouldn’t care. All of the boxes with his things were locked away in storage until he got Rebecca back or he found a permanent place to call his own.  

“Now this is just depressing.” The boy muttered, nose high in the air with well-to-do disgust. For someone that probably slept in places smellier, and draftier than this, and smelled like it, he was one to talk.    

“Thank you! I’m glad you like it. I like to call it: divorced-man chic.” Greg winked, glad to see the boy blush again. He walked to the kitchen putting the groceries away and putting the pasta water on to boil. A quick meat sauce might be alright, he thought to himself as he shrugged out of his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves and set to work. “Make yourself comfy. It’ll take a few minutes to get the food on. The tele works.” The noise of the BBC news wafted over to him as the steam of the boiling water began to rise.

“What utter nonsense. Every ten years I turn on the news and the stories never change.” The boy scoffed at the screen. Lestrade looked over at him in surprise that someone so young could sound so cynical and embittered.

Lestrade came over to lean on the archway between the kitchen and sitting room. “What’s your name?” The boy started and looked over to him with some confusion.

“William. Though I would prefer Sherlock.” Sherlock looked up to Lestrade.

“Why don’t you come and set the table? My name is Gregory though you can call me Greg.” He smiled and nodded towards the kitchen, going back to the food. It was only a few minutes from Sherlock setting the table to Greg putting the meal between them. “Take as much as you want. When was the last time you ate a full meal?” He questioned, serving himself after Sherlock took his portion.

“What is today?” Sherlock questioned with a sigh and needed his whole hand to support his head.

“Wednesday.” Lestrade took a large mouthful of pasta, and moaned in relief at finally eating dinner and being done with the day.

“Last Friday. I split a takeaway with a tramp in an underground stairwell at three in the morning and she gave me a couple grams of cocaine.” Sherlock’s eyes glittered at the memory.

“Jesus. No wonder you’re so thin. Eat as much as you want. Slowly. I don’t want you throwing it back up.” Lestrade yawned, already feeling the wear of the day and a full belly catch up with him. They were quiet for a few bites and Sherlock began to pick at his plate. “How did you know I was an Inspector?” He mumbled over a mouth full of saucy pasta.

“Obvious.”

“Okay how is it obvious? For us mere mortals.” Lestrade questioned, just as biting as Sherlock was, and tried not to roll his eyes at the younger man.

Sherlock’s eyes sparkled with amusement and it seemed he was happy with the idea. “Do you consider me immortal?

“No but you have some sort of special abilities. I didn’t have any of my usual shit on when I met you. So… what was it?” Greg propped his elbows on the table, his hands folding in front of him as he held his knuckles to his lips, arching an eyebrow. The boy now had his completely attention.

“You were wearing a suit and your stride denoted someone who did a lot of walking and in a hurry. Normally someone would assume you were in business or working in the financial district. But when I turned the corner I noticed the lack of tailoring that spoke of money or status. But you’re sufficiently groomed to be professional. Though by the tread of your shoes you don’t make enough to afford new ones as often as you should, so not business then. You had calluses in certain positions that would perhaps denote someone that played video games, though not the right build. So you held something else in your hands, an object that would give you wear and you did it often enough for the callouses to be permanent. You weren’t wearing the uniform of a nurse, emergency technician or fire brigadier. You also remained calm and were quite flippant where people normally would panic, so you’ve faced a lot of danger, so something else in the civil service. You were observant enough with an intuition to know that I wouldn’t harm you, only threaten. You don’t have a military bearing but you’re prepared to react in an instant. You were also able to take account of the situation very rapidly and decide not just to react. Feeding a junkie whom you don’t know at all speaks of a strong moral compass. All of this added up to a member of the police.” Sherlock concluded taking a bite.

“Amazing!” Greg was in awe of him. “But how did you know I was a sergeant?”

“You looked tired and haggard like you had to do most of the grunt work but high up enough not to wear a uniform, an inspector does the bossing around and the sergeants do the grunt work while the uniformed officers do the labor. Also, I was at liberty to observe you well before the alley and you had just got off work. The way you had tugged the neck of your shirt and tie denotes someone who hasn’t been used to wearing a suit for long, hence the recent promotion, congratulations by the way.” Sherlock finished.

“Fantastic!” Greg’s brow was up into his forehead. He was entirely right.

Sherlock gave him an aside eye, as if he hadn’t expected the “That’s not what people usually say.”

Lestrade smirked. “What do they usually say?”

“Piss off.” Sherlock dabbed at his lips austerely with his napkin, and pointedly ignored the rumbling chuckled from across the little decrepit table even as they made his cheeks blush. “Clearly I don’t need to explain how I know you’re in the middle of a divorce.”

“Separation.” Lestrade corrected.

“Divorce.” He pointed to the evidence he found where it was visible from where they sat. “You have a card of a divorce lawyer on the corkboard over there. Not a very good one either, I could get you the name of a better one. You have an unopened, purposefully ignored manila envelope with the return address of another lawyer’s office on the coffee table in front of the TV, a decent one but you could pick a better one if you were serious about it. It even has several stains from beers on it to prove my point. Though from the fact that your wedding ring is still on you don’t want to get a divorce. Perhaps because she slept with someone else and left him. You still want to see if it will work out. If you were the one that cheated on your wife, you wouldn’t you still have it on. Sentiment. People always like trying to fix what’s irreparable.” Sherlock lifted his eyebrow looking Lestrade up and down. “Though knowing that you’re bisexual I doubt you’ll be with her for long since you invited me up here and from the way you’ve been looking at me all night.” Lestrade wasn’t expecting himself to grab Sherlock by the scruff of his shirt and lifted him from the table. It took him a minute to remember himself.

“I get the ‘piss off’ part of it now.” Lestrade dropped the younger man back into the chair and picked up the plates. “Why don’t you go wash? The shower is clean, and the water will be hot. I’ll leave you some pajamas at the door.” Lestrade turned to the sink, back stiff. The silence was deafening until the chair across the room scraped the floor.

“I’m sorry. Sometimes it’s hard to stop it once I get a steady stream going. I can’t just turn it on and off like a tap.” Sherlock sighed. “It’s probably exhaustion, withdrawal, and your cooking talking, but you have no idea what it’s like to live inside my head. My thoughts are always racing, I see everything. That’s why I take the cocaine or anything really. Anything to get a high. It gives me a chance to be calm and just not think.” Sherlock took a halting breath and left the room, going to shower as Lestrade instructed. It was the first time anyone had ever thought he was brilliant without admitting it begrudgingly or finding his brilliance annoying. “Stupid.” He muttered to himself, stupid for caring, stupid for going on talking when it would have been easier to just be quiet. He always did love to show off. He stripped and turned on the shower. He adjusted the temperature before climbing into the shower. The water slushed over his skin, and he hadn’t realized how miserable he had felt stewing not only in his own emotions but his own smell and the dirt of lying around in the filth of crack dens for too long. The tension in his body was slowly eased and he began to wash away the grime that remained on his skin, skimming his hands over the dips, valleys, and planes of his body. For the first time in months, he felt like he was coming back into his own skin. He had expected something like the usual sensory overload to overwhelm him, but instead he felt relaxed as he moved to work the unfortunate cheap combination shampoo and conditioner into his hair. There was a calm about Gregory Lestrade that allowed Sherlock to breathe. That was an unusual trait in a person for him.

He rinsed his hair with a sigh. The motion to turn off the shower was automatic, the ability to step out of the shower was less so as he stumbled across the room to the closet. At least the inspector kept a closet full of clean linens. He put his face into it with a sigh before moving it through his hair and then down his body. Sherlock wrapped the towel around his narrow hips. Further inspection produced an unused toothbrush in a wrapper whose twin was in the brush holder over the sink. He found the toothpaste on the front of the sink by the faucet. He hoped the Inspector wouldn’t mind, and was so happy to be able to brush his teeth. He didn’t feel so decrepit now. There was a knock at the door just as he turned off the sink.

Greg had been standing at the door wondering what he should do, now knowing that this kid had the ability to see through him. Nothing could be kept hidden. It gave him a vulnerability that he wasn’t exactly comfortable with, but he imagined that’s why most people gave Sherlock a hard problem. When someone knew everything about you it was impossible to maintain any sort of bullshit in front of others. He sighed, hearing the sink turn off. Sherlock didn’t need someone pissed off at him like all the other people out there just because he saw what they didn’t want to be seen. He needed a friend, he needed support. He needed someone that would listen to him and take him seriously. Greg had seen a lot of situations where the person was teetering on the edge, that was Sherlock. He was standing on the precipice of oblivion, and what was more he liked the rush destruction gave him. Probably because he was bored and surrounded by a world of idiots. Unlike the other junkies Lestrade knew, he had hope for Sherlock. So instead of pacing in the hallway in front of the door, he knocked.

“Sherlock. I have your pajamas.”

Greg’s voice called out from the other side of the door. He obviously wasn’t expecting a naked, wet, attractive younger man to open the door just then and first Sherlock saw his surprise but the attraction, _that_ was unexpected. Sherlock expected the man to make a move, instead he found his hands full of secondhand pajamas. “Thank you.” Sherlock didn’t reach out to take them, wondering what the Inspector would do next. The look in his eyes spoke of hunger.

“Put these on. You’ll catch cold.” The magnetism between them made his mouth salivate, and that was not good. Lestrade was a decent bloke, even if he was a bit of a bastard, and the last thing Sherlock needed was an older bastard like him taking advantage of his gratitude.

Greg gave him a smile that made his stomach swoop… again. Why did that keep happening? He blinked and Lestrade was walking away from him. That was entirely unexpected and not what Sherlock desired from the situation at all. “You’re not going to…”

“Have sex with you? No, I’m a cop. I don’t break the law and I definitely don’t sleep with people I invite to my house when they need a place to stay, not someone clawing at them.” Greg walked towards his room. He came back out with a sheet and a blanket. “I’ll take the couch.” Greg offered. He wasn’t expecting the younger man to rip them out of his hands.

“You’ve cooked for me, allowed me use of your shower, I’m not going to discommode you further by sleeping in your bed alone.” Sherlock objected moving out of Greg’s reach and he sighed in exasperation.

“What kid uses words like discommode?” Greg laughed. He tried to reach for the sheet and duvet only for Sherlock to back away again towards the bedroom.

“I’m not a kid! For god’s sake, I’m twenty-two!” Sherlock growled. Greg made a move to grab them from him again, and instead Sherlock dodged it, moving out of his reach again, then ran into the bedroom.

“Sherlock!” Greg growled in tired frustration.

“We’re adults! We can share.” He argued and moved to the other side of the room.

“Barely. You’re barely an adult and I don’t think that would be such a good idea.” Greg objected, moving towards him to grab the blankets. He missed on the first time but the second they both held onto the blankets and fought for control of them until they crashed onto the bed. “Let go!” Greg growled.

“You first.” Sherlock pouted.

“You’re a child.” Lestrade growled.

“Maybe you should spank me.” Sherlock shocked even himself for a split second. The words just came out of his mouth.  

Greg hissed trying not to get turned on by the suggestion. “Why do you keep on pushing this?”

“I don’t know! Maybe because I want you to? You’ve been thinking about it since I came into your flat and I’ve been wanting it since you smiled at me when we walked out of the alley.” Sherlock’s voice deepened and rumbled into the air between them like the purr of a jungle cat in a thunderstorm as he spoke the truth. It made both of them freeze. Sherlock dropped the sheet and duvet over the side of the bed, neither of them giving the discarded linens any notice.

Lestrade reached out to touch Sherlock’s razor-sharp cheekbone, his thumb caressing it. Sherlock gasped at the touch, and if they weren’t pressed together so tightly, Greg would have missed it. Their shared breath mingled sweetly as their chests panted. “We should get some sleep.” Greg suggested, his voice scraped raw, and he moved to pull back.

Sherlock reached out and wove his long, elegant fingers into the older man’s rapidly silvering hair. He pulled Greg back to focus on him with a yank that sent chills down Lestrade’s spine. “Stop being such a noble, polite asshole and kiss me.” Sherlock growled, and reached up to close the gap between them, his lips smooshed into the lips of the other man. Somehow, they were gentle and soft, the five o’clock shadow that felt so adult, so mature added a roughness that pulled at Sherlock’s gut, making it dance. He moaned against the other man’s lips until at last Lestrade gave in and took possession of the kiss as Sherlock had been letting the silver-haired Inspector direct him in all things since he followed the man out of the alley.

Greg took the younger man’s jaw into his hands and pulled away to see the man’s face. Greg could tell the kid was inexperienced, but he was no less eager. Greg could feel the evidence of it against his stomach as Sherlock writhed. “I said I wouldn’t sleep with you.” His voice turned completely to gravel by his body humming with condensing sexual energy.

Sherlock moaned at hearing his voice. “I want you to, I want not to think. Help me not to think for a while. I can’t sleep if I don’t have something chemical to take the edge off but I could have sex with you. I _need_ it!” Sherlock pleaded, tugging Greg back down to his lips. They kissed again, and then finally, _finally_. It seemed the last doubts and hesitations gave way and Lestrade gave in and kissed him the way Sherlock was hoping the older man would kiss him. Each time he licked his lips on the walk to the flat, when he watched Lestrade eat, when he drank, Sherlock realized he had been thinking about this, wanting it, _aching_ for it.

Sherlock was so absorbed in the kiss, it offered Lestrade the perfect opportunity to do what he wanted to Sherlock. He flipped the younger man onto his belly and smirked in satisfaction at the gasp of surprise he got in reply. “On your knees.” He commanded, pulling at Sherlock’s hips until his brain functioned and his body moved as ordered.

“Are you really going to spank me?” Sherlock wondered, gasping again when the knot of the towel at his hip was pulled and the air hit his shower warmed skin. He was now vulnerable to Greg’s eyes and he moaned despite himself, blushing when he felt hands on his ass. No one had looked at him down there since he was very small, in fact he doubted anyone truly had.

“Don’t tempt me.” Greg growled digging his blunt fingers into the frankly abundant arse cheeks below him. For such a malnourished kid, Sherlock had an arse built for sin. “I have something else in mind.” Greg’s mouth watered as he parted Sherlock’s cheeks and exposed the pink bud to his perusal. He hadn’t done this in a while, Rebecca wasn’t nearly so willing or thirsty as Sherlock was, but with one swipe of his tongue, Sherlock cried out and began to shake. It further proved that Sherlock was either completely new at this or had so little experience it made Lestrade’s cock give a perverse throb at the idea that he would educate such a marvel of a man in something he didn’t know much about.

“What are you doing? That’s— I’m a junkie. You shouldn’t be doing that.”

“Why? Are you telling me you’re not clean?” Lestrade questioned, taking another swipe at him and tasting the clean taste of soap before getting to the pure dark, dusky taste of Sherlock’s skin. Delicious. “You’re the most intelligent person I’ve ever met. Would you be stupid enough to use a dirty needle? Share dirty needles with other people?” He questioned, delighting in pushing the fleshy globes in his hands together and separating them just to watch the rosy bud between them wink with the stimulation.

“Nooo-oooo…” Sherlock groaned, his hips shifting impatiently. Greg’s tongue was busy inside his arsehole, wriggling around to really loosen the hole until he could work his tongue against the warm, tight, hot flesh rippling and clenching inside.

“Then do you not want it? Because if you say you don’t…” Greg wondered as his words echoed against Sherlock’s skin where he was slowly kissing the skin there with his tongue and nibbling his way down to the perineum and pushed against it with his tongue. At the same time, he reached around with his other hand and grasped at the weeping cock that jumped at his touch. The younger man cried out and Lestrade stopped him from cumming by wrapping his fingers around him and squeezing. Sherlock lurched and fell forward into the bed, a complete wreck and completely at Lestrade’s mercy. “I won’t believe you. Look at you. A few swipes of my tongue and a touch of my hand to your cock and you’re ready to pop off like a rutting teenager.” Lestrade growled against Sherlock’s skin and chuckled darkly, flipping Sherlock back over so that he could see his face. The surprised, dazed expression caused the older man to moan and he closed the gap, kissing Sherlock so that he could taste himself on Lestrade’s tongue until the tastes melding together.

“More… Please!” Sherlock gasped against his mouth pulling at Lestrade’s pajamas.

It was a matter of moments to shuck his shirt and wiggle out his pants and pajamas until at last they were both naked. Normally he would have walked around in just his pajamas, but he had wanted to be so polite for this lost boy. He could see now how much that had been in vain. Greg kissed Sherlock once before leaning back, Sherlock choked on the whine in his throat. He was so bloody needy, and selfishly wanting all that Lestrade had to give. He hated to be reduced to this. This naked, vulnerable neediness. It was why he hated getting involved with people. But right now, he wanted every moment of this. Lestrade knew he would spoil Sherlock’s every desire, but he also imagined that anyone that saw him like this couldn’t deny him anything. Sherlock was the very definition of a spoiled brat.

“I’m going to touch you now. Don’t resist, and don’t hold back.” Lestrade growled. He took ahold of the weeping cock between them, Sherlock’s cock, and tightened his grip around it so that he didn’t pop off before they even began. He began to pump his fist, not needed lube to ease his way. Sherlock was practically leaking like a faucet and his cock glistened. He waited until Sherlock’s hips were arching into his touch, and the younger man was completely distracted before he reached down and found the bottle of lube in his night table. A couple of pumps from the bottle and he pressed the liquid against Sherlock’s skin, the saliva had nearly dried already.

“Wha…?” Sherlock cut himself off, moaning when Lestrade rubbed his thumb along the underside of his cock’s head, giving him something else to focus on, overwhelming the young man with sensation.

“How does it feel?” Lestrade questioned, pumping his fist even as he took his time spreading the lube on his other hand over the still open hole. He slowly tried to work a finger against it, and felt his cock jump at the knowledge that Sherlock had tightened back up again. It would feel so good on his cock, he just needed to wait a little bit more. He pressed his fingers against Sherlock’s skin and pumped his hand some more, watching the lad’s eyes stare up at nothing, consumed by the input his brain was receiving. “Tell me.” Lestrade reached down to indulgently suck a kiss in the boy’s hip.

“Like… like… I’m on fire. Can’t think, like I don’t fit inside my skin anymore.” Lestrade could imagine what such sensory overload did to someone like Sherlock that was already so overwhelmed day to day, but it also had the benefit of calming his mind because his senses were overwhelmed by a single source, like electrical wires being over fed by a too high a voltage. Lestrade would make Sherlock spark and ignite until he shorted out and it was going to be brilliant. The poor kid was so overwhelmed now he couldn’t take it, and his poor cock was nearly purple and in just a matter of minutes. Lestrade wanted this to last forever. His back arched so beautifully, and he didn’t even notice when Lestrade pushed his way inside his hole, all the way in one swift push. He finally felt the intrusion even with his cock being stimulated and all at once Sherlock’s body tensed as he gave a hiss, and he arched against the burning feeling inside his body as it accepted Lestrade’s finger.

“I said don’t resist, relax. Let me touch you.” Lestrade growled, as his finger worked in and out, wriggling around to stretch Sherlock open. “I’ve got you.” Lestrade was practically purring in satisfaction as he worked in another finger alongside of it. Sherlock’s aching cries were cut up as each new sensation blinded him to the last and his body fought for air, fought against the sensations even as his cock pulsed in Lestrade’s hands, begging to come. Sherlock’s head shook back and forth as he fought to keep control. Lestrade curled his fingers just so and gave a devilish grin when Sherlock cried out beneath him, rubbing his head, that was now too heavy for his insensate body, into the duvet underneath them until his curls formed a mussed, fuzzy, black halo around his head. “Gorgeous.” Lestrade breathed almost to himself as he pressed into spot that made Sherlock practically weep again and again and again. He stroked one, twice and watched in surprise as the pleasure grew to be too much and even with his fingers preventing the younger man from cumming, Lestrade forced Sherlock to orgasm and he pulsed in Greg’s grip in great white heaves of cum. Lestrade continued to stroke him in awe in pulsing, sweet strokes of his fingers, coaxing the orgasm from the boy until with a full body shake, and one last weak pulse of hot cum from his cock Sherlock whined and shuddered from overstimulation. Lestrade watch his body shudder up his spine as he gave one last long stroke and let go of him. Lestrade licked at the cum on his hand, moaning at the taste of him. A bit bitter from lack of a healthy diet, but the taste still made him moan. Lestrade looked down and arched an eyebrow in surprise to see that Sherlock watched him, eyes sparkling from orgasmic tears and saw that the boy was still hard, his hips still shifting. “You’re still hard…” Lestrade observed in awe.

“Obviously. Don’t worry if you don’t want to continue, it will go down in a minute.” Sherlock turned away, his cheeks pink.

Lestrade was so in awe he hadn’t heard him as he moaned and reached down to lick at the mess on Sherlock’s stomach and then nibbled up the shaft before giving it a long lick to watch is bob before his eyes. “That’s fantastic!” Greg moaned, instead he grew impatient. It would have taken all of Lestrade’s very limited willpower to stop. Instead, he lined up his cock and touching it to the still relaxed opening with a shark-like grin. “I’m going to fuck you now.” His grin was filthy as he pushed his way into the tight, wet heat in one endless, ineffable press of his hips.

Sherlock cried out when he entered him, unerring and unstoppable. He wasn’t prepared for Lestrade to be so filthy, and beastly. He didn’t even stop to let Sherlock have a minute. He just took what was on offer, and it made Sherlock’s cock pulse. “Greg!” Sherlock cried out, arching into the push of Lestrade’s hips, impaling himself even as the burn of it made his eyes water. He almost wanted to confess to the man that he was Sherlock’s first.

Lestrade entered Sherlock slowly, letting out a long, loud moan as he moved inexorably forward into the tight, hot heat of him, one millimeter of throbbing hard cock at a time. Lestrade’s cock was large by anyone’s standards, not just longer than average but thicker than almost any man, and it was the girth that stopped most, as he practically split most people he had fucked wide open, as they were impaled by his meaty flesh. He was in awe as Sherlock took every bit of it into him with a feline arch to his spine as he whined when Lestrade finally bottomed out inside of him. “Look at you, taking my cock like a big boy. I’m almost proud to see it. A very proud Daddy.” Greg cooed, reaching down give Sherlock a filthy kiss in delicious contrast to his sweet words. He growled into it when he felt Sherlock impatiently grab for him, putting everything he felt into the kisses they shared. Their shared passion was entirely all consuming. Lestrade used the distraction to shift his hips, pulling out as much as he dared before thrusting back into Sherlock in a rush that made Sherlock hiccup a moan against his lips. Lestrade chuckled into the kiss and did it again, shifting a bit to find the same spot that now made Sherlock dig his fingers into Lestrade’s triceps. Sherlock’s touch drove his hips into action. Again, and again, and again Lestrade pumped his hips in a steady, heavy thrust, hitting that spot inside Sherlock over and over again.

“Wha…? What’s going on? I can’t— Oh god!” Sherlock panted, pulling away from their kiss as his chest heaved.

“Feel me? Feel me deep inside you? That’s my cock driving you wild. I’m going to cum inside you, soak that virgin hole and fuck you until you cum. And you’re going to cum without my touching you from your sweet hole being fucked. Are you going to cum for me?” Lestrade growled, reaching down to take a bite of Sherlock’s long neck into his throat, right against the boy’s Adam’s apple so he could feel Sherlock cry out as he sucked a mark into the pale, pale column of it. Greg had been on edge the entire time, so it wasn’t very long at all until he felt the coil deep inside his gut tighten to let him know that he was going to cum himself. He had wanted to take his time. It had been so long, too long, since anyone had been so eager to have him. _Next time._ He promised to himself as his hips grew impatient and he began to lose his rhythm and his thrusts sped up until the entire bed was shaking and Sherlock was gasping and moaning in time with it. “I want you to say my name as you cum, come on Sherlock. Give it to me. I want to feel the way you clench around my cock when you cum. Cum for me, now!” Greg commanded, growling as he felt Sherlock’s hole tightened, as his back arched suddenly.

“Greeeeeeeg!” Sherlock barely got the sound of his throat before his eyes rolled out of his head and his entire body tensed in a silent scream. His entire body pulled taut as his skin turned red from the lack of oxygen and his vision went white. Sherlock had never had such an orgasm. The white noise and silence in his mind were a sweet, blessed relief.

Greg watched for as long as he could before his hips stuttered in one last bruising thrust against the bony cradle of Sherlock’s hips, while Sherlock’s hole rippled around him, pulsing in echo of each pulse of Greg’s cock. The boy’s cock finally as Sherlock’s body shuddered in release, gave three weak pulses as Sherlock made a mess of the cradle of the dip in his stomach, painting himself with the last of what his body had to give for the night. Greg could feel his balls emptying, the release casting a satisfying warm, glow throughout his limbs as Sherlock gave him a sweet reprieve from all of his own thoughts.

They shook apart together, each moaning as Greg reached out to twine their fingers together. He held on, unseeing as the pleasure made his limbs go numb and Sherlock’s feet cramped where they gripped the sheets, until all at once the tension flew from their bodies and Greg crashed onto Sherlock’s body. He let out a long moan of pleased release as the tension all at once flowed out of him. He sighed into the duvet underneath them. It was so soft, and he was now so tired. He smiled to Sherlock laying underneath him, watching Greg with glittering, impossible green-blue eyes flecked with gold, impossible just like the rest of them. How was this kid even real? “How are you even real?” Greg mumbled almost to himself where he lay on the duvet most of his weight still on top of Sherlock where they were sprawled on the bed.

“I could say the same to you.” Sherlock’s mouth quirked up in the corner and Lestrade was forced to kiss it. He supposed it was rather an intimate thing to do after just meeting Sherlock that night, but he couldn’t have been arsed to care in that moment. Neither could Sherlock, as he used the last threads of his energy to sleepily kiss the older man back.

They parted and Greg left his head on the duvet next to Sherlock’s head, as close as he dared. “You’re wonderful…” Greg sighed, and Sherlock was the last thing Greg saw as he dropped off into sleep entirely against his will.

———

The sun pierced through the curtain of Lestrade’s bedroom. He groaned as it blinded his vision when he tried to wake up. “Fuck…” He sighed to himself rolling over, and squawking when he almost fell off the bed. Instead of laying appropriately as he would be, he was sprawled widthwise along the foot of the bed, which was why he almost fell out of it.

He sat up with another groan and pushed his fingers through his quickly greying hair. He had decided when the first greys appeared at twenty-five, he wasn’t going to be one of those idiots buying product to keep the inevitable at bay. Men and women alike still hit on him; in fact they all quite liked the silver. So, he kept it. For the same reason most men covered it up. He sighed and stretched before checking the clock on the nightstand by his bed. “Oh fuuuuuuck…” He growled out loud seeing that he was late, very late for getting to work on time. He rushed through his routine in the bathroom and then breakfast but came to a stop when he looked to the kitchen table. On the table was a note and the card that had his lawyer’s name on it, but it was written on. It read:

“Inspector,

Thank you for the… ~~lovely~~ … ~~nice~~ well, to use your word, wonderful evening. I didn’t want to wake you, so I helped myself to some toast and tea for breakfast. I also had to take some money from your secret stash behind the toilet, really should find a better place for that. Try the floorboards. Sorry. I know most people would probably consider that a bit not good. I wrote the number of a better lawyer on the back of the card of your shoddy one. Please use them. Use my name (Sherlock Holmes) and they’ll help you free of charge, they owe me a favour. I’ll be in touch.

— SH”

Lestrade stopped everything he was doing and sighed looking down at the note and the card. He had forgotten about Sherlock and the amazing sex he had completely. He blamed that on the fact that Sherlock had completely wrung him dry, along with his ability to remember. No one had been able to do that to him in a while, perhaps ever. He scooped up his new mobile phone, a work requirement that he didn’t understand and his pager. Greg sighed locking up the door to his flat and starting his day.

“I’ll be in touch? What the fuck was that about? Wanker.” Lestrade mumbled angrily to himself as he began his day and tried not to think about the body that had been underneath him the night before and the man attached to that body.

What troubled Greg Lestrade was how difficult it was to return to normality when someone like Sherlock Holmes implodes your reality.

**Author's Note:**

> There's just something I love about a Lestrade that just lets go of all of the inhibitions and just goes for it. When faced with someone like Sherlock, I mean who wouldn't? And he wasn't trying to be sex on a stick in front of Sherlock, he just is! 
> 
> Comments and Kudos are our currency of love, spread the wealth around.


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